I have returned, good peoples, (relatively) unscathed, from The Land of Orange. I have returned with a greater pride in my beloved University of Georgia, a greater respect for our boys of the gridiron, and a greater understanding for the need to have antibacterial salves on hand whenever one dares cross into Knoxville, Tennessee.

My buddy and roommate Croz told me before we left that the first thing I’d say when I got back would be, “Knoxville sucks.” “What if we win?”, I asked. Then it’ll be, “Awesome game. Knoxville sucks.” he said.

So, Croz: Awesome game. Knoxville sucks.

Pregame, Or “I’m Gonna Take a Nap, Pass the Lysol and the Penicillin”

Josh and I headed north round abouts 1 o’clock last Friday afternoon, reaching our final destination for the evening, the previously mentioned Family Inns of America, about 5 PM. Tip: if two crackheads try to get a room while you’re in the process of checking in, do not, I repeat DO NOT proceed to pay for both reserved nights on a freakin’ check card. Trust me on this. The room we were given had personality in the same way Hitler had personality, if that makes sense. And while I don’t need 300-thread-count sheets, 200 channels of premium cable, and a shower with multiple massage options in my hotel rooms, I also don’t need a roach infestation in the mattress and babbling drug addict outside the door.

We made do. Lock the doors, drink some beers, no biggee. But then the rest of our road-weary travelers arrived. They checked in. They did not pay for both nights on a check card. They are smarter than me. They went to their room, next door to ours. The door was OPEN. There were more roaches on their side of the wall and cigarette butts and god-knows-how-many different types of “Eau de Human Excretion” in the toilet. They were not going to stay. We agreed to leave. The guy at the desk wouldn’t give me my money back. I’m writing a letter. Only question is, who do I write it to? The hotel’s corporate office (if they even have one)? The Tennessee Dept. of Health and Human Services? The Air Force, requesting a carpet-bombing? I’m getting my money back, dammit.

We left the Family Inns that same night, the hilarity of slummed-down irony long ago washed away by the smell of roach feces and crackhead stank. But we found another place, a glorious place. And there we drank beers, ate pizza, and finally slept, awaiting the sun, and with it, GAMEDAY.

Tailgating, Doggie-Style

We found a good tailgating spot, an easy (or so we thought) walk to Neyland Stadium, cracked some beers, and cooked some brats (the beef-sausagy things, not petulant children). Strangely, the hot dogs and bratwursts actually made me hungrier after I ate them. Not sure why.

And, as it usually happens, we fell into two distinct cliques within our group; the guys:

…and the girls:

Nevertheless, we had a great time, but like all great things, it had to come to an end; it was nearing game time, best take that short (ha) walk to Neyland Stadium, get in, and take our seats for kickoff.

So we began to follow the crowd, Dawg and Vol fans alike, confident we left with plenty of time to spare. Or so I thought; I’ve learned my lesson.

At most games, if you were to ask a person how to get to the stadium, they’d tell you, “Head down that ROAD, take a left on that STREET, follow that SIDEWALK, etc etc.” Not Knoxville. We trekked behind the old building, past the dumpsters, down the dirt hill, under the train tracks,

through a hole in a FREAKIN’ CHAIN-LINK FENCE, through a jungle that reminded me of Viet Nam (ok, movies about Viet Nam),

down another dirt hill, to finally arrive at the stadium gates.

Now, this was the first time I’d ever been to a game at Neyland Stadium, but I’d heard all the great things about the atmosphere, the revelry, the fact that God created Neyland Stadium on the eighth day (and judging by how the place looks, it might be that old). And maybe to some all that is true and more, but me, I don’t get it. Neyland Stadium is the Shea Stadium of college football venues, and even now I can’t decide if that’s more of an insult to Neyland or Shea. Pick one.

After getting in the gates, it’s just a hop, skip and jump to our seats in the upper deck, right?

No.

When Neyland was built, they foolishly forgot to construct any sort of ramp or stairs connecting the upper deck and the lower. Apparently they thought if you were really really full-in-yer-heart in L-U-V luv with ol’ Tennersee you’d do anything, including climbing the metal exoskeleton to get to the upper deck, to get to your seats. Eventually though, as the years wore on and Tennessee folk got fat - I mean, fatter, a decision was made to provide a little easier access. So they built one ramp, 5 feet wide, at one corner of the stadium. In order to reach this ramp one must walk somewhere between 5 and 7 miles through what appears to be a long-ago abandoned Army nuclear fallout facility - the ramp itself is another 3 miles.

We got to our seats after kickoff, too late to see the UT band spell “T” (only took ‘em three tries) and too late to cheer the Dawgs as they began…

Beatdown 2005: The Fall of Pickle Boy Jr.

We looked good. Damn good. Not to get ahead of myself, but we looked BCS-bowl-game good.

A couple things:

• Despite the interception and fumble, DJ really demonstrated what a talent he is. The Dawg Nation should be happy he stuck around for his senior season.
• The offensive line and entire defense played lights-out. The OL protected DJ very well all game long and wore Tennessee’s D down on that last offensive drive which was punctuated by Brown’s touchdown. The defense is light-years ahead of recent units in one area: they don’t miss a lot of initial tackles. Great job by both those groups.
• Game balls: 1. Demario Minter: Super Demario My Brother played one of the best single games a UGA DB has played since that guy Champ was roaming the secondary. He came up with a huge interception in the endzone and never got beaten deep. 2. Gordon Ely-Kelso: Give the friggin’ punter some love, man! Kelso’s kicking was top-notch. His punt in the fourth quarter that was downed on the one-yard line paved the way for the heroics by… 3. Thomas Flowers: I told you. ‘Nuff said.
• There’s not many feelings better than watching the throngs of Urnge make their way for the exits, bathed in the sweet sweet sounds of the Redcoats as the final seconds tick away. Just awesome.
• Quote of the night: 15 to 20 minutes after the end of the game, many Georgia fans in our section finally began to head for the exits, when a good ol’ boy decked out in red and black stood up and shouted, “Where y’all going?? They’re comin’ back out for their curtain call! Coach Richt is gonna tell ‘em how badass they are, and when he’s done, they gonna come back out and we’re gonna tell ‘em how badass they are!” Awesome.
• Most uncomfortable I’ve felt in a long time: Two seconds after a 30-something woman next to her husband tapped me on the shoulder and asked me what the three-fingers-up, ring-finger-down (the “Shocker”) meant. I don’t even remember what I told her, but rest assured I thankfully never uttered either “stink” or “pink”.

So now it’s off to Vandy. They always play us tough. Richt will have ‘em ready, though - I guaran-damn-tee.

Pics are here.

Go Dawgs.